Black Jack
by The-Other-Ghostwriter
Summary: Sequel to "Plaything". Set in the near future, a new mysterious villain walks the streets of Gotham, catching the attention of the almost-retired Joker. But there's much, much more to Jackie than just another interest in the Joker's eyes--or Nightwing's
1. Chapter 1

_Well, apparently "Plaything" was a hit, and the call for the sequel is being answered! So here you are! Hope it's to your liking!_

_**Black Jack**_

**Chapter 1**

It was unusually crowded in the bar, the barkeep noticed. Generally on a Thursday, no one really cared for such a small bar and instead entertained themselves with petty crime and the such. But tonight nearly every seat--bar and table--was filled and even then, it was still pretty quiet. The juke box in the corner was softly emitting a gentle, melodic tune that no one else in the entire bar even _thought_ about changing. And why? The barkeep absently shifted his eyes over to the left-hand side of the bar to where a regular customer was residing. The regular was underage, but quite frankly, more illegal things than underage drinking went on in his bar that he turned a blind eye to, so serving a minor a usual of only two drinks a night was the very least of his problems.

Everyone else in the bar kept their voices down, not only because they were mostly convicts and crime underlords, but also because they knew that when this particular music was playing, the one playing it wanted to hear it. If there was the urge to start a shoot-up or riot, they knew damn well to take it outside, lest worse things than bullets or punches hit them...

The barkeep looked up from giving some underlord his White Russian when he heard the bar door slam open. Not open loudly, but _slam. _Everyone tensed and looked up to see a relatively little-known newcomer enter the bar with two large men behind him; the barkeep recognized him as Christoph--just Christoph--from when the man had come in earlier. He was the kind of man to use force to get his way...and in this case, the table he wanted. He pointed to the table in the back near the juke box, and his two henchmen behind him walked over to it and forcefully pulled the two young men sitting there up and pushed them away, leaving the table clear for their boss.

Christoph strut forward and sat down at the table and pointed to one of the barkeep's hired waitresses. "Yo, scotch on the rocks, Dollface!" he called over. The barkeep narrowed his eyes at the rude treatment of one of his girls, but the waitress nodded and walked over to the 'keep, who poured the scotch in a glass and handed it to her.

"Cant ya just backwash it?" she whispered as she took it from him. The barkeep shrugged.

"I _could_ do a lot of things, Molly," he murmured back. "But I _can_ also value my bar." Molly rolled her eyes and took the drink over to Christoph, who took it with a lewd smile and winked at her. She gave him a politely dirty look before turning and going over to the next customer who summoned her. The barkeep thought that to be the worst of the night, but no. Oh, no... He instinctively tensed when he saw Christoph look at the juke box next to him. And his fear was realized when Christoph said:

"What the _hell_ is this shit that's playing?" He stood up and looked over the playlist. "...Bach? Mozart? Fucking _Tchaikovsky_!?" He snorted and started to laugh. The barkeep actually felt himself begin to sweat as Christoph flipped through other choices as the crescendo rose from _Concert Fantasy in G_, and found something he liked. He pressed a button and Tchaikovsky ended and a heavy rock song replaced it, the sweet piano and strings replaced by dark voices and a heavy _thum thum _of the bassline. And likewise, nearly every heart went _thum thum_ as all heads--head leader Christoph and goons aside--turned to the line person on the left-hand side of the bar.

Just as the barkeep thought, the figure in question raised their head and turned it, looking over at Christoph through locks of dark hair in front of their face. The barkeep, not looking away from the figure in mention, waved his hand to his waitress, who slowly traced the path of the wall out of the line of view of the threat.

Christoph, who seemed to not even notice the bar go dead quiet--bassline aside--and the air go heavy with fear and anticipation, and he sat back down to sip his drink. The barkeep felt a shudder run down his spine when the figure stood up and put their glass down. His eyes followed the figure as they silently walked toward Christoph, who was blissfully unaware of the events thus far, only looking up when he saw people literally dive out of this figure's way as they made their way toward him. He arched a brow and gestured for the two bodyguards forward, and they did indeed step forward, one of them cracking his knuckles while the other cracked his neck.

The other people scurried out of the way as the figure shot forward, a knife suddenly in both hands, and shoved them into the bodyguard's stomachs, then without a pause, ripped them upward and shoved them away, leaving them to write and bleed to death on the floor while Christoph dropped his drink in shock.

The figure slowly turned their head to look at Christoph, and the man saw two dark, piercing eyes staring at him from under locks of messy, uneven hair. He fumbled for his gun and just managed to raise it when the figure slammed a knife down through his arm, pinning it to the table, then grabbed his head and slammed it into the juke box again and again until a sickening_ crack_ resounded through the bar.

Dead silence rang around the rest of the people as the figure put the knives away underneath the coat they were wearing, and picked up Christoph's gun. They watched the figure contemplate the gun, then turn to them all, a wide grin spreading over a pale, blood-splattered face.

It all happened so fast that the barkeep didnt even register when it stated or ended; but he snapped out of his stupor when he heard the rock music screech to a halt, then silence, then a gentle Bach take its place. He raised is head, his heart pounding, and looked around at the people in the bar; those that hadnt managed to get away were dead from single-shot bullet wounds to the head or neck; one of them was still twitching as blood poured from their mouth and throat. He flinched when the regular customer covered in blood walked back up and put a bloody ten-dollar bill down on the counter.

"One for the road, Howard," they said in a low, masculine voice; though a touch of lightness and pitch lay in the undertone. Howard shakily reached under the counter for a bottle in a tub of ice and set it down on the counter. The figure smiled eerily at the traumatized barkeep and took the bottle, then turned to leave, not even bothering to step _over_ the bodies as they made their way out.

* * *

They walked through the door of an apartment in Gotham's near-upper class neighborhood, shaking off their bloody coat and putting it on a coat rack. From the kitchen, a small clutter of sounds came forth, and the figure smiled.

"Is that you, Jackie, sweetie?" came a woman's voice from the aforementioned kitchen. Said Jackie smiled wider, a true, non-eerie smile, and brushed her hair out of her face, her dark brown eyes shining.

"Yes, Momma!" she called back cheerfully. "I'm home!"

* * *

_Things'll get more in-depth the next chapter, promise promise! Lemme know how I did!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Wowee! 10 reviews!? --dies of glee--_

**Chapter 2**

Jackie shifted slightly in her bed, her face passive and angelic as her mother watched from a crack in the door. It made Jackie's mother almost sad, thinking of all the times that angelic face had been covered in tears. She knew that her daughter had gone through so much, and just from the circumstance of her genetic being.

The birth had been easy enough; unlike what was expected, little Jackie had little trouble being born. From labor to crowning, it had only taken three hours; Jackie had come out before she had known it. She was born nine pounds, two ounces with a crown of dark hair; she had named her Jackie on the spot. After testing was done, she was nursing little Jackie when the doctor told her the news--Jackie was chromosome XXY.

It was a rarity, since she was physically female, but the doctor warned that near puberty, Jackie may experience male growth changes, rather than female, and advised that Jackie begin taking low doses of hormones made just for this situation immediately. The doctor was given a jubilee of harsh words, mostly pertaining to how Jackie was perfect the way she was, and that she would help her through whatever ordeal that may come.

And now, looking back on it, she wished she had listened to the doctor. Growing up, Jackie always used to ask her "Mommy, am I a boy or a girl?" And to take up on what she told the doctor, she told Jackie the truth; that she was a little bit of both, and she explained to Jackie in little words about her chromosomes and how she was a little bit of boy but was born a girl. Jackie seemed to understand, and that was that.

But that wasnt that, not at all.

It slowly grew worse; Jackie began to refuse to wear dresses, and instead opted for the boy's clothes. She began playing with the other boys, and after awhile, Jackie actually seemed to forget that she was a girl. It was further believed to be so when at the age of twelve, her voice began to crack, much like the other boys at school. But things seemed to crash and burn because of a teacher, who was giving a lecture about boys and girls growing up, and asked for the boys to go to a different room for a different movie. Jackie had gotten up with them, and the teacher said, "Jackie, you need to stay and watch the girl's movie. You're a girl."

Jackie had retorted with, "No, I'm a boy." The teacher corrected Jackie, and a shouting match had summoned the principal, who had called her mother in, and she had to tell them about Jackie's unique genetic makeup, and that Jackie was just being what she felt. The principal then told Jackie and her mother that since Jackie was physically a girl, then she had to start acting like it, since the next year in secondary school, after-gym showers were mandatory. Jackie's mother had tightened her jaw and said that they couldnt change what Jackie was.

Things only got worse for Jackie. At thirteen, she began getting woman-like mood swings, but much more violent than normal. She got in trouble a lot at school for being fine for one minute, then something small, like getting a C on a paper, made her blow up and do or say something violent that had the school security called on her. One time, she had to change schools because her teacher refused to call children by nicknames and since at that point, Jackie preferred the name "Jack", the teacher continually called her either Jackie or 'young lady', and Jackie finally shot up out of her seat and threw her books at the teacher one by one until one of them struck her shoulder. By the time her mother had gotten up to the school, Jackie was reduced to a sobbing mess, crying about how she wanted to go home.

It didnt get any better at fourteen; at that time, female hormones took over and Jackie began to grow breasts. Jackie had began freaking out when that happened, and her mental state of being only got worse. She began to get more violent, and in trouble with the police. Every time her mother had to come pick her up, Jackie was in tears, screaming about how something called "black" was making her do those things. Her mother held her as she cried nearly every night, pleading with her mother to believe her. And of course, she did. She truly did.

But even with her mother's support, Jackie only got worse. Even with the daily ritual of taping her breasts down, she pulled at her lengthening hair in frustration at her failing attempts of looking like a boy. Her voice gained the ability to have natural girl's and boy's tones, depending on whether or not "black" was taking over. It also didnt help that while her breasts were growing, her muscles also began to grow, and she shot up in height. Her oddly put-together appearance made her the target of ridicule at school, and she wasnt safe from either gender, for they would call her a jubilee of names that would send her crying out of the school and back home to her mother's arms, crying about how she just wanted to feel "right". And her mother would cry along with her.

Just a year later, Jackie was left alone while her mother went out for something to do with work. Jackie said she was feeling ill, so she was staying home from school. It was very late by the time her mother came home, calling if Jackie was feeling up for some dinner. She heard no answer, so she went to Jackie's room to see if she was asleep, but Jackie wasnt in there. She absently noticed that the bathroom light was on and the door was cracked, so she gently knocked, thinking that Jackie was in the bath. "Sweetie, are you hungry?" All she heard was a slight shifting and a soft sound, so she opened the door.

In the bathroom was the worst thing she had ever seen. There was blood _everywhere_; splattered on the sink, the side of the tub, the mirror, and especially the floor. And on the floor was a shirtless Jackie who had blood pouring from her chest, and she immediately saw why. Jackie's breasts were gone, and there were slabs of skin in the sink and a straight razor in Jackie's hand.

Upon seeing her mother, Jackie slowly looked up, her eyes dark behind her hair, which had been hacked short with the same razor, it seemed; a twisted, insanely joyful smile on her face.

"...I did it, Momma," she slurred out, her voice low and masculine as her chest heaved in the effort to function without blood. "...I did it...I'm a boy..._and _a girl...!" She leaned her head back and laughed. "...A boy on top...girl on bottom...!" Her laughter deepened and became more frantic as her mother fumbled for her cell phone and called the ambulance to come immediately.

Jackie had nearly died of blood loss, but they managed to save her in time. After her condition was under control, the doctor came to her mother with the plans for replacing Jackie's breasts. Immediately, her mother refused, saying that it was exactly what Jackie wanted--the nearly dying part excluded or course. After the fact, she had rushed into her daughter's room and sat by her side for the entire duration of the visit.

The hospitalization completely cut the final straw of Jackie's school absences, so her mother completely took her out, knowing that things would be better at home, with her. Indeed, they were. Jackie seemed happier since the incident, and even when she was supposed to be recuperating, she had her mother rest while she cleaned up the dried blood in the bathroom herself.

That wasnt to say that things were perfect. The "black" that Jackie often talked about seemed to make itself known, and whenever it did, Jackie referred to herself as a "himself". But even this "Black Jackie" was pleasant to be around. "He" refused to let "his" mother do a thing in the house, and even headed out into the city--as Jackie was now 16 and legal to work in some places--to find a job.

But "Black Jackie" wasnt permanent. Sometimes, both of them would wake up and Jackie would speak in her feminine voice, and her hair would be pulled back neatly. "Black" was put into the back of her mind. But at random times during the day, Jackie's voice would lower in octave and her entire posture and state of being would switch to "Black's". But she didnt dwell on it. She knew that "Black" was Jackie's reinvention of herself to be compatible with the masculine XY chromosome--ie, "Black Jack" was the male side, and Jackie was the female side. Over time, Jackie's mother learned to identify just by looking at Jackie whether or not to address her child Jack or Jackie, 'him' or 'her', 'he' or 'she'. And as long as Jackie was happy, she was happy...

She smiled at the sleeping form of her child and shut the door gently, not making a sound, and turned to walk about the apartment and pick up anything she could; which was very little because as soon as Jackie came home, she cleaned the apartment before showering and heading off to bed. But she went about anyway, and saw the coat still on the coat rack. She took it in her arms and held it for a moment, stroking her fingers over the purple material almost reminiscently, and saw the smears of blood dried into it.

She stared at the bloodstains, not a single emotion passing across her face, then headed for the laundry room to put the stain remover on it for what she thought to be the hundredth time.

...That month.

* * *

_This was just a filler...--hits head on desk-- Back to the storyline next chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

_GAH!!! Holy crap, sorry for the delay. Between writer's block and figuring out 's new system....well. Here we go._

**Chapter 3**

"I'm going out, Momma!"

Jackie's mother leaned back so her head stuck out from the dining room door frame. "Alright, Jackie sweetie!" she called back. "Just dont forget curfew!" Jackie pulled her newly washed jacket on and straightened the collar.

"Yes, Momma, eleven-thirty," she replied, running a hand through her hair. "I might be back earlier."

"Have a nice time!"

Jackie smiled at her mother and stepped out the door, taking the stairs out of the apartment building. It was cool out that night; odd for September. A light wind was blowing, and the sun was just setting. Jackie stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and walked toward the shopping district of Gotham, not really planning on buying anything rather than just window shopping.

She walked the whole way; she hated public transportation and only used it to get across the city. The shopping district was just two miles away, no biggie. The lights lit up the sidewalks, and she looked sideways at the windows, stopping when she saw something she liked in a boutique window. She looked at it for a moment, then walked in to browse the racks and pick out a dark blue silk shirt and black pants.

In the dressing room, she put them on and looked at herself in the mirror, noting how the shirt and pants stuck nicely to her frame. She then picked up the jacket and dug through the inside pockets, and took out a knife to cut the tags and theft detectors off, then put the jacket on and walked out of the dressing room and out the store.

After walking down the sidewalk for a few moments, Jack dug in his pockets and pulled out his menthols and lighter, and lit one up to stride down the street in a nicotine-induced bliss. Yes, tonight was a good start to a good night...

* * *

Tonight was just the type of night to recline at the unfinished construction site. It was the remains of a project that never really got off because of a downsizing of a construction company, and thus it was a great meeting spot for drug dealers, mole-meetings, and split personality dual genders. And the latter planned to do just that.

Jack flicked the ashes off of his second menthol of the night as he trudged up to the site and looked for a good place to recline and just think about nothing at all. As he turned a corner, a sight greeted him in his periph, and he looked over to see two young men conversing about something...and right underneath the best reclining spot no less! Jack made a soft clicking sound through his teeth in slight agitation and flicked the cigarette away before strolling over to 'greet' them.

Ignoring the fact that what they had to say was quite obviously not for other's ears--nor any company was wanted, no less--Jack sauntered up. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said, his voice almost innocently smooth. The two men looked up, a bit unnerved from Jack's ability to stride up casually and not be heard. The taller one of the duo shifted uncomfortably while the other narrowed his eyes. Jack just grinned. "Might I ask what you are doing here on this fine night...and on my private territory?"

The shorter of the two men scowled. "I dont see your name on it," he replied snidely. Jack merely grinned more broadly and pointed directly up from where the three of them were standing. The two men looked up to see, clearly etched into the metal the words **Black Jack**.

"I do," Jack replied. "And now, so do you. So..." He straightened his back and cracked his neck. "...Please vacate my area."

Two two men looked at each other, then snorted. The shorter of the two stepped forward, and it was apparent that he was even shorter than Jack's five-foot-eleven inches. He looked right up at him and pulled his jacket aside, revealing a gun in a holster. "You might want to recall that statement," he said, a smirk on his face. Jack didnt even bat an eyelid as he flicked his wrist and a blade fell in his hand, and with one motion, he sliced his arm in front of the man, and then did nothing.

It would seem that Jack had done nothing, really, but then the man in front of him made a wet coughing sound, and a thick spurt of blood came from a deep slice in his throat. He gagged for air and both hands went to his throat as he spat up what blood didnt spray from his throat, and Jack delivered a sharp kick to his stomach, sending him flying to his back in front of his friend. As the taller man gaped with shock down at his partner, Jack turned his back to them.

"I repeat," he said softly, his voice taking a slightly higher, insane pitch. "Vacate. My. Area." The taller man backed away, not bothering to pick his friend, and hauled ass out of the construction area. Jack made another clicking sound and turned to the metal skeleton of the unfinished building.

* * *

"I...I mean...he just...fucking sliced his throat...!" The man that had run away from the stranger earlier stuttered through his words as he followed his boss back to the construction site he had run from just an hour ago. As soon as the stranger had said to vacate the area, he had hauled ass to the base of the gang's operations and hadnt stopped stuttering about what he'd seen since.

Jedediah, Jeddy for short, wasnt too pleased to have had to leave his base (and the lady flavor of the evening) for a little problem such as this. Plus, he had to make a few calls for the backup that Kent had insisted on him bringing, and that was more hassle than he could tolerate. Now, with fourteen of those who showed up, he was following Kent back to the construction site that he had marked as his territory but was now being trespassed on.

When Jeddy saw the dead body of one of his gang members, he growled with anger. "Who was it!?" he demanded of Kent, who began to stutter again at the sight of his friend's corpse. "Who did this!?"

"I...I dont know!" Kent replied. "I've never seen him before! I dont know!" Jeddy turned to the other members of his gang.

"I want this place searched!" he shouted over to them. "I want this son of a bitch found, and I want his fuckin' balls in a glass jar for this!"

"Oh, _that's_ eloquent..."

Everyone present looked up to see someone on a high rail of the skeleton, reclining on a backing with one leg hung over the side and swinging to and fro slowly as he held a cigarette about an inch from his lips. He was looking down at all of them with dark, hooded eyes. Jeddy stepped back a few steps to get a better look at him.

"Who the fuck are you!?" he demanded. The person on the rafter reached back to tap his knuckles against the backing he was leaning on. Jeddy looked and saw the words **Black Jack** etched into the metal. "'Black Jack'?" he read aloud. "The fuck kind of name is that!?"

"The kind a mother gives her child," Jack replied absently, tapping his cigarette to let the ashes fall next to Jeddy. The gang leader clenched his fists and sputtered softly while looking around for a way up to where Black Jack was sitting. Jack just stared down at him with humor in his eyes.

"Fuck...how the hell did you get up there!?" Jeddy shouted, mostly to himself. Jack snorted.

"I _climbed_, genius," he called down. "Any other brain teasers you want to throw at me?" Everyone present could practically see a vein in Jeddy's head twitch. Jack ignored him and inhaled his cigarette.

"Oh...a fuckin' wise-guy, eh!?" Jeddy spat, glaring up at Jack. "Why dont you come down here and say that to my fuckin' _face_!?"

Jack snorted and inhaled the last centimeter off the cigarette, then flicked the butt away to make it land on Jeddy's head. "Alright," he replied, cracking his neck and standing up on the rail. "If you insist." That said, he crouched down and jumped off of the railing. The other gang members around Jeddy and Jack let out various sounds of awe as Jack landed on the ground effortlessly, then stood up straight and looked at Jeddy. "Well," he said, beckoning with his gloved hand. "I'm here. And I say to you 'I. Climbed. Genius.'"

Jeddy snarled and threw a punch at Jack, who easily dodged it and shot his foot out to catch Jeddy's stomach. One of the gang members who had made a circle around the two caught his leader and pushed him back into the fight. Another member found a pipe and tossed it to Jeddy, who caught it and began to swing wildly.

Jack dodged all attempts at a hit, his hands in his pockets and his back bending farther with more balance than any of the guys watching thought to be possible. Jeddy seemed to grow more agitated with each hit and miss, and his swings became more violent and less accurate. Finally, Jack seemed to grow tired of the farce and when Jeddy brought the pipe down to smack Jack in the head, Jack deftly caught the pipe, twisted it out of Jeddy's hands, and swung it hard, hitting Jeddy in the head with a sickening _crack_.

The gang members all stared, mouths open, as Jeddy froze in place for a moment, then crumpled to the ground in a heap and didnt move. After a few more moments, a single cry of unanimous outrage crowed from the small crowd of fourteen and weapons of various sorts found a way into each hand and all as one shot forward for Jack.

Jack, calm as always, kicked the nearest one in the stomach to make him double over, then jumped onto his back and darted away, knowing better than to take on fourteen without a gun. He almost cursed himself for forgetting it at home, but then absently reminded himself that he had fifteen other ways at the moment to kill, and there were fourteen; still a way to spare. Ah, the bliss....

Jack's thought process was cut short when a glass bottle was hurled through the air and hit him in the head, completely shattering the bottle, but not even drawing blood. As with the thought process, Jack himself stopped dead in his tracks, all movement coming to a screeching halt. Behind him, all fourteen of the guys slowed down, wondering exactly why Jack had stopped. Finally, they all heard a soft, feminine whimpering sound coming from their adversary.

Jackie reached behind her and put her hand over her head, then turned to look at the gang behind her, her dark eyes wide and almost innocent. "I.......wha......?" she stuttered out, her voice light and most definately female. The gang exchanged confused looks. ".....What's......what is all this....? What do you want?" She took a few steps away, her posture and attitude a complete 180 from the being she had portrayed just moments ago.

Kent was the first to recover from his confusion, and pulled out a switchblade. "Oh, dont give us any of that bullshit!" he spat, advancing toward her. Jackie took a step back with every one of Kent's steps forward. "We're not fucking buying it!" The rest of the gang nodded and muttered their agreements and also advanced toward Jackie.

Jackie let out a soft sob, then turned and ran. She ran fast, fear and value for her life pumping adrinaline into her veins as she sped toward somewhere--anywhere--there was help.

Unfortunately, she came to a steep cliff she knew she couldnt survive had she attempted to jump, and she was forced to stand on the very edge and look behind her as the gang made their way toward her.

"Nowhere else to go, asshole!" Kent said, brandishing his switchblade. "You're gonna see what happens to anyone who fucks with the Jeddies! Get 'im, boys!"

That was all the incintive the gang needed to let out a unanimous battle cry and run toward her, fully intent on beating the life out of her before throwing her over the cliff. Unfortunately, one of the guys slung a chain at her, which struck her in the face and made her lose her balance before the gang could get to her, and she fell over the edge, letting out a scream as she fell.

Her scream was cut off when she was suddenly caught mid-fall and held onto tightly as she was flung out of the plummit. Coming to her senses, she noticed that a strong arm was holding her to a just as strong body, and she looked up to see a dark blue shape of what looked like a bird over black. Looking up further, she saw a face covered half way by a black mask.

"Oh fuck, it's him!" she heard one of the gang members shout, and she heard similar explicatives from the others as the all scrambled away from the scene.

The arm around Jackie loosened, and allowed her to stand on her own on another part of the unfinished building where she and her savior had been dropped. She balanced herself and looked her savior in the face.

It was Nightwing; Gotham's new Dark Knight, as he had been called over the past few years. He stared at her, his eyes flickering over to the large bruise and cut on her cheek where the chain had struck her. Jackie seemed to notice, and raised her hand to touch it, now aware that she was even injured at all. She winced, but ignored it on the whole. "....Thank you," she said softly, swallowing hard. ".........Thank you."

Nightwing nodded. "You should go home," he said, his voice rough, but soft. "It's not safe to be out here." Jackie nodded.

"I know," she said. She looked around a little toward Gotham. "........I'll go home......but........could you just.....?" She shifted a little and gestured at the beam they were standing on. Nightwing took the hint, and held her to him again as he safely jumped from the beam and landed on the ground. "Thanks." She pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "It's a lot to ask.....but could you please......keep an eye out while I walk home? Just in case."

Nightwing nodded, and Jackie returned it, then began her trek home without another word. No one bothered her the whole way there, but she could still feel someone watching over her like a hawk the entire way until she arrived to her apartment complex and went inside. She was quiet until she walked into her apartment. "I'm home, Momma," she announced somewhat weakly. Her mother came around the corner, smiling, until she saw her daughter's face.

"Oh my god, Jackie!" she cried, rushing forward to gently cup Jackie's face and examine the wound. "What happened!? Who did this to you!?"

"It....it was just some gang members," Jackie replied, feeling drained and in need of some sleep. "....I'm alright.....I was rescued...." She saw her mother's lips purse slightly, knowing who exactly she was talking about. "...Momma, I'm fine...!"

Her mother let out a sigh and gently led her daughter into the bathroom to clean up the wound. "...Jackie, I know this doesnt sound fair," she said, dabbing some antibacterial on her daughter's cheek, "but I dont want you going out for at least a week, alright?"

Jackie didnt protest. She just nodded and let her mother tend to her wound. "Yes, Momma," she replied. She let her mother bandage her cheek, then she shrugged off her jacket and handed it to her mother to hang up on the coat rack. "...Can I go to bed?"

"Of course, Jackie." Her mother leaned forward and kissed Jackie's uninjured cheek. "I'll come in with some water in a minute." Jackie hugged her mother goodnight and left for her room.

In the living room, Jackie's mother held the jacket to her for a moment before hanging it up and brushing the dirt and what looked like tiny glass pieces off of it. She smoothed it out and sighed before turning and heading into the kitchen for that glass of water.

* * *

_SO sorry it took so long! --beg beg grovel--_

_Well, next up, Jack has a meeting with a former terror of Gotham.  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As she promised her mother, Jackie remained in the house for the week requested, leaving only to go to the local grocery for necessities. In the back of her mind and the pit of her stomach, she _ached_ to leave the house to do....something. But she knew better than to disobey her mother. Those days were spent in her room at her desk, drawing or reading. That was after she cleaned the house obsessively, of course.

And now it was the eighth evening, and she had just finished having dinner with her mother. She gathered the dishes and washed them, then sat across from her mother again, putting on her best "Please, Mommy, please" expression. Her mother looked up and back at her work a few times before sighing with a small smile.

"Alright, Jackie," she finally said, closing her book. "You can go out tonight, but I want you back at ten-thirty, alright?"

Ignoring the fact that her curfew was set back a half hour, Jackie let out a happy sound and hugged her mother. "Thank you, Momma!" she said, kissing her mother's cheek and running to the door, snatching up her jacket. "Back at ten-thirty! Gotcha! Thanks again!" She left the apartment in an excited rush, getting her arm caught in the right sleeve as she darted down the stairs.

She skipped the last four steps and darted out the door of her building. The early evening air graced her lungs as she inhaled deeply as she strolled down the sidewalk. She had missed the city air, she really had. She smoothed the cloth of her jacket, her fingers unconsciously probing for the slight indention that would signify a cigarette or two, but she found none, and instead thought to head over to her favorite bar.

She was halfway there, happily anticipating the drink she was going to imbibe, and completely unaware of the fact that several people were watching her. Years of having people stare at her taught her to completely tune other people out when she walked; some people even jumped out of her way in what seemed to be fear sometimes, and she didn't even know why. But she ignored them and everyone else; it was better than paying attention and then never leaving the house again in a fit of angst.

But as she walked further down the less reputable part of her neighborhood, she did become aware that someone—or, several someones—were walking a little too close to her. Against her better judgement, Jackie peeked over her shoulder. Two men were sneaking behind her in the shadows, their eyes locked right on her. Fear leapt in Jackie's chest, and she took off running.

Though she didn't look back, she could hear the men running after her, but it was slightly faint. Jackie knew that, if anything, she was extremely fast; a childhood of outrunning bullies (or chasing them down) had trained her for the nowadays. She jumped over several garbage cans, took corners sharply and smoothly; anything to get away from them.

After a few minutes of running from them, Jackie turned behind her to check and saw that they were no longer in sight behind her. She took another corner and pressed her back to the wall, her chest heaving from the exertion. She forced herself to hold her breath, and listened. All she could hear were the usual sounds of the city, a dog barking, and some man yelling in Italian in the far distance. No running steps. No queries as to where she was. Jackie heaved a heavy sigh and slumped down on the ground, wishing she had never left the house at this point, and decided it would be better to just go home.

She checked her watch. It was only seven-ten. Whatever. She sighed again and stood back up, brushing the gravel off of her jacket, and was about to turn to take the longer, somewhat safer route home, when a hand grabbed her and another pressed a cloth over her mouth and nose. She struggled briefly before passing out, not even knowing what hit her.

Jackie made a soft sound, coming back to the land of the conscious and greeted with a massive headache. She put a hand to her head and sat up, fighting the vertigo, to see what was going on.

She found herself in a warehouse room; there was only one large light in the room she was in, and it was quite dim and looking like it was going to go out at any moment. Feeling a rise of panic, Jackie shakily stood up and looked around before noticing that her jacket was gone.

That made a lump stick in her throat; her mother had given her that jacket! She quelled the urge to cry and looked around. "Hello?" she called. "Please…!"

"Aww…is the wittle baby gonna cwy?"

Jackie whipped around and saw some men staring at her from the shadows. The one in front was holding her jacket in his hand, a sneer on his face. Jackie could only focus on her jacket and how to get it back. She swallowed that lump in her throat. "…Please," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Please…give me my jacket back."

The men all scoffed and a few giggled manically. The man in front stepped out of the shadows, still holding the jacket. "YOUR jacket, kid? Where'd you get it, then?"

Jackie swallowed again. "My mom," she replied. "Just give it back!"

"You must think you're tough, eh, girlie?" he said, ignoring her plea. "Wearing this out in public?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Jackie wailed. "My mom gave me that jacket five years ago! What's so wrong with it!?"

"This is the Boss's jacket, you little bitch!" another person from the shadows—a young man who couldn't be much older than Jackie—shouted out. "You have a lot of balls to steal the Joker's jacket!".

Jackie froze where she stood, confused and shocked. "…No," she said, shaking her head. "No, you…you must be mistaken…my mom gave me that! She told me she bought it at a thrift store!"

The man holding her jacket took a moment to examine it, inside and out. "….No mistake," he finally said, brandishing it. "This is the Boss's. I'd recognize this style anywhere."

Jackie felt her breath quicken with adrenaline, knowing that something bad was going to happen. "Please," she began again, but yelped and fell back when a bullet was shot just an inch from her feet. She landed hard and bit her lip when she heard the people laughing at her. The man made a light gesture and two other guys ran forward and each grabbed an arm each. The man holding her jacket stepped forward to her, using his free hand to pull back the hammer on his gun.

"I'll teach you to make an idiot of the Boss," he sneered, pointing the gun at her.

All of a sudden, his target's leg shot up and a boot collided with the man's chin, completely sending the man flying with the follow-through. He fell to the floor, screaming in pain, his lower mandible obviously snapped completely out of place. The two men holding Jackie stared in shock for a moment before crying out in surprise when their captive jerked forward, sending them flying to the floor too.

Jack snarled angrily and stalked forward to the man holding his jacket and stomped hard on his hand when he tried to take up his gun to defend himself. The man let out another pained scream as Jack ground his heel into the man's hand.

"Trash," he growled huskily, kicking the gun away. He bent down and picked his jacket up and shrugged it on, his overall posture seeming to transform with the application of the jacket. "Don't fuck with me, trash. I don't like it when people touch my jacket."

The man glared over at the rest of the men who were staring in shock. "Get 'er!" he shouted through his dislocated jaw.

The men and Jack acted at the same time. Jack flicked his wrist and a knife shot out from under his shirt sleeve, and as the men rushed forward to attack him, he swung his arm hard, taking out two throats with one slash. His free hand grabbed an outstretched arm and jerked forward, slamming the body into another person, sending them both flying.

The farce lasted for less than ten seconds before the whole warehouse room came to a halt when a loud, commanding voice shouted out, "ENOUGH!"

The men froze, and Jack only let go of the young man he was about to stab in the eye. All eyes shifted toward the shadows, where a figure stepped out into the light. Jack lowered his knife when he saw who it was.

The Joker.

* * *

**Never fear, I have more! Sorry for the delay!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The Joker stepped out of his observation spot in the back of the room to step forward and face this new figure. He had been watching from the start, noting the girl's reactions to her predicament. But as soon as her life was threatened…'she' seemed to turn into a 'he'.

And it wasn't an act. The Joker had been around mental jobs for years, and he knew an act when he saw one. This kid in front of him had two personalities—a damsel in distress, and a cutthroat dog of war. Interesting. Very. Very. Interesting.

He stepped up to this new object of interest, observing on guard, as always. "Pretty nifty knife work there, kid," he said, waiting for a response. The kid only looked over his shoulder at him, and held up his bloody knife.

"Impressed?" he asked, his voice husky and edgy, a smirk on his young face. "Thanks. Self-taught." He flicked his eyes to the remaining people. "Got anymore assholes to knife?" The Joker saw the knife in the kid's hand twitch, and he had to grin.

'Fascinating,' he thought to himself. He smirked at the rest of the people around the kid. "…Have fun." He flicked his vision over to the new kid, whose grin grew much wider.

Show time.

* * *

It was barely five minutes later that Jack was polishing off his knife with a kerchief that he snagged from one of the gutted men on the floor. The Joker only watched with avid fascination. This kid had skill; real skill. Skill that could be very useful to him in the long run...

"You got the time?"

The Joker snapped out of his musings when Jack spoke up, stuffing the knife into a coat pocket. "What?" Jack held up his left hand, and the Joker could see a smashed watch on his wrist.

"The time. What time is it?"

The Joker looked at his own watch. "...Nine fifty," he said. Jack swore under his breath and smoothed out his jacket.

"Damn it, Momma's gonna ground me until I'm thirty!" He turned to the door, and Joker quickly stepped forward.

"What's so important about the time?" he asked. Jack ran a hand through his hair impatiently.

"I promised Momma that I'd be home by ten-thirty!" he said. "Those fucktards completely ruined my plans for the night, and now, I'm going to be late!"

The Joker only stared at the split-personality. "...That's your only worry?" he asked, amused. "...Your curfew?"

"YES!" Jack shot back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go." He turned back to the door.

"Not so fast, kid." Jack could hear the subtle 'flick' of a switchblade being opened. He rolled his eyes and pulled his own blade out of his pocket.

"I dont have time for this shit," he growled without turning around. "Just tell me what the hell you want so I can make it home."

The Joker contemplated Jack's turned back, his eyes mostly lingering on what was most definitely HIS jacket. This whole situation was just too good to let go and ignore. "...Information," he replied, tapping the blade against his finger. "If you can give me your word that you'll give me what information I ask for, you're completely free to go."

"I live on the upper west side of Gotham in the shopping district," Jack said without a pause. "Aston Place Apartments, top floor." The Joker whistled.

"You live pretty ritzy," he commented. Jack rolled his shoulders, his backbone cracking.

"Momma and me get by," he said. He pocketed the knife again. "See ya." The Joker watched as Jack ran out of the warehouse, only looking around briefly before disappearing into the night.

When the kid was gone, the Joker stepped back into his current domain, closing the door behind him and stepping over the bodies on the floor.

"Well," he said aloud to himself, twirling his knife between his fingers. "This has been a great night. A fuckin' great night..."

* * *

Three days later, just at sundown, the Joker found himself looking at Aston Place Apartments. Indeed, this WAS the higher-class of Gotham; not first class, but not middle-class, either. It was about seven-o-clock, and the Joker was starting to get annoyed. He had been waiting here for over an hour, and he was about ready to scale the ladder to the top floor when the building door opened and he saw the unmistakable color of his purple jacket.

…It was the female personality, the Joker decided. She was dressed more carefully than the boy had been last night, and her hair was pulled neatly out of her face. She straightened her jacket and stepped onto the sidewalk to head into the shopping district.

The Joker followed her silently, watching her as she walked aimlessly down the road, stopping every once and awhile to look at something in a shop window before moving on. He followed her for about thirty minutes before she slipped into an alley and down some stairs before walking through a door and into a noisy bar that immediately went quiet at her arrival. Joker walked in after her and took a seat in the back, in the shadows, to watch.

Jackie stepped over to the jukebox and turned on some pleasant Mozart, and the Joker saw that no one made a move to change it. So, he thought, Jack had a reputation around here. Fascinating.

He saw the barkeep give Jackie a drink and edge away carefully. Jackie took a sip of the drink and pulled out a small notebook out of his pocket to flip through it, then she paused, a confused look passed over her face, and looked around.

The Joker took that as something of a cue, and got up from his seat to sit next to her up at the bar. She gave him a sidelong glance, but nothing else as she went back to her drink.

"…I believe you owe me some information," the Joker said, staring at her. Jackie turned to stare back at him.

"…Excuse me?" she asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "I don't even know you." She turned back to her drink. The Joker's eye twitched slightly.

"…I know you know what I'm talking about." He pulled his switchblade out of his pocket and tapped it against the bar. "Now is not the time to play stupid." Jackie's eyes froze on the blade, her hand clenching her drink hard. "Now, are you going to stop playing the idiot?" Jackie's eyes remained glued to the knife. The Joker's eyes followed where hers were locked, and grinned. "You like?" he asked. Jackie shook her head. "No? Shame." With one swift move, he slammed the blade into the bar in front of her, and just one second later, a blade slipped into her hand and pointed right down on the Joker's wrist.

The Joker looked up to see a hard expression on Jack's face. Jack stared at him for a moment before slamming his own blade into the bar next to the Joker's. "Lovely to see you again," he said, his voice changing a 180 from light and feminine to deep and husky. He picked up his drink and downed the whole thing in one chug. "Though, next time you might want to make sure it's ME before making contact. Jackie doesn't usually share my experiences."

"…'Jackie', huh?" Joker said, picking his knife out of the bar. "Is that your name?" Jack shook his head.

"No, that's HER name," he replied. "MY name is Jack." He made a gesture to the barkeep, who immediately began making another drink.

"…You have split personalities?" Joker asked, twirling his switchblade between his fingers. Jack nodded a thanks to the barkeep and took a small swig of his drink.

"…That's too much of an understatement," he said. "We have more like…split lives. We're two entirely different people. Jackie is female…she's timid and scares easily." He grinned. "Strong emotions trigger the mindset from hers to mine."

"Ah, I see," Joker replied. "I recall your little switch back at the warehouse." Jack nodded.

"You'd be surprised how many things can trigger me," Jack said. "Before I even became a dominating personality, little things would make me come out—a teacher yelling at her, some kid picking on her, some asshole knocking her over; you name it." Jack took another swig of his drink. "…She even used to have a name for me, before Momma gave me a name." He looked at the Joker. "…Black. She said it was what she felt whenever I took over, before she blanked out."

The Joker blinked, then snorted. "Black. Black Jack." He heaved a sigh and gestured to the barkeep for a drink of his own. "…Classic."

"And 'Joker' is no more classic?" he asked. He polished off his drink. "Any more questions you want to ask? I have some shopping to do and territories to clear out." The Joker rolled his eyes.

"I have many more questions, regarding, well, you," he replied. "But I suppose those can wait, in lieu of your oh-so-important shopping trip." Jack slapped a ten on the bar.

"They can," he said. "I'm shopping for Mother's Day." He stood up and smoothed out his jacket. "Well, it's been a pleasure. We'll have to find another time to meet up." He pulled out his small notebook and a pen, then wrote down something on it. "So she'll know not to freak out when she sees you," he clarified, putting the notebook back into her pocket.

"That would be great," the Joker said, chugging his drink. "Any way I can get a hold of YOU, in case I run into Jackie?"

"Sure," Jack said. "Just ask." With that, he left.

The Joker stared after him for a moment before realizing that Jack had made a bad joke.

"….Ha ha ha."

He finished his drink and left without paying.

* * *

**ARGH!!! Sorry for not updating! But here I am!**


End file.
